


Sweat and tears

by Blank_Is_typing



Series: The story of 9 [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Overworking, survival show era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:16:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17475962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blank_Is_typing/pseuds/Blank_Is_typing
Summary: Sweat and tears, (no blood because that's gross) the most basic form of measurement for someones worth.





	1. Sweat

Evidence of hard work is sweat. 

Not the sleepless nights, thinking of everything that could go wrong.

Not the constant hours spent waiting in a line for your 5th audition in 3 months.

Not spending the last 3 dollars to your name on a bus ride across the city to compete with 300 other people.

Just the sweat on your back.

At least that was how Minho saw it.

They always ridiculed him, saying that the only reason he got in was because he mentioned BTS. They thought that he was lazy, that he knew he was good.

Minho thought he was the worst. No matter what he did he was never good enough. He spent night after night, dripping with sweat as he tries to master the difficult spot in his choreography. 

It was only after the trainees saw him, passed out on the floor, sweat covering every inch of his shirt that he earned any form of respect. 

World of dance, they didn't care. Multiple dance awards, didn't care. Been dancing since he was 5, didn't care. The only time they cared was when he said he hid in the background, unnoticed, unseen. Just another face doing the same moves.

Or when he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. He didn't want to be seen as this dancing god that could never get tired. Not some suck up dancer with horrible stamina either.

He was Minho, he liked cats, loved making jokes, had an obnoxious laugh, and wanted to be a singer. He wasn't just some pretty face with above average dancing ability. Every part of his personality was stripped away, to the point where others only knew him as,"the bts backup dancer," or,"The really good dancer from group 7."

As much as he enjoyed being complemented on his skill he wished he had a friend, maybe if he worked harder they would want to get to know him.

He'd had this mentality for 2 months and no one talked to him.

It wasn't until a frustrated scream shot past his throat at 2 in the morning because he had messed up the choreography once again, did someone finally notice.

"Mind if I join you?" a voice asked. 

When Minho looked over to see who was talking, he didn't expect it to be Chris. He had never really talked to him because he was always closed off and locked away in a studio somewhere. 

Realizing that he didn't answer his question huffed out a "sure," before lying down on the practice room floor.

"Why are you still here? Class ended like 4 hours ago," he said sitting down next to him.

Minho closed his eyes, still trying to catch his breath,"I'm not good enough."

Chris chuckled,"I've seen you dance, seems good enough to me."

"Well if that's the case then why has no one wanted to talk to me?" he sighed.

"I'll talk to you," Chris laid down next to him.

"Seriously?"

Chris nodded.

That night, or I guess morning, was the first time Minho had met someone who made him believe that his value wasn't measured in the sweat on his back.


	2. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If sweat measured your effort than tears measured weakness.

Tears.

Something Minho had always been told was a sign of weakness.

Crying meant you couldn't handle something, that you weren't strong enough to deal with it.

That's why he tried to keep other people from crying.

He hated seeing people be vulnerable and,"Weak."

 That's why he never cried.

He broke his arm when he was 12, he bit his lip to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He was not weak.

When he was told his grandmother had died while he was in Japan for the wings tour and feeling homesick, he refused to talk about it. He was not weak.

He might not have been weak but he wished he was empathetic.

During the show, there were many mental break downs, They hadn't even filmed the 3rd episode yet. Whenever his members cried, begging to be consoled, he couldn't help them. 

All he could say was that they were weak. 

But he knew it wasn't true, they were the strongest people he knew, going through traumas he couldn't have imagined. 

And they all cried. At one point or another they cried.

Maybe he was weak.

That's what it was, he was weak and pathetic, and stupid. Stupid for believing the words that the world had driven into his head. For hiding his pain when he could've gotten help. 

He didn't deserve to be there. A pathetic dancer who just made friends with the leader.

Those thoughts drove him through the episode at hand. Knowing that his stutter and the growing resentment of him by the CEO would be enough for JYP to give him what he wanted.

He kept a straight face as JYP said he was eliminated. It wasn't like he was trying to be eliminated, it was just fate telling him what he already knew.

He didn't deserve it.

Seeing the other members cry broke his heart, they shouldn't be crying over him. 

"Don't cry". "Why are you crying". "Stop being upset" he would say repeatedly going to each member until their tears dried.

The ride back to the dorm was practically silent. They all knew this would be their last night together, and Minho would be left alone again.

He excused himself to the bathroom as soon as he stepped foot into their home. 

Leaning against the locked door, finally, for the first time in his life.

He cried.

He cried for all the pain, the loss, missed chances, and anything else that had built up for the last 20 years of his life.

The hot tears seemed to never stop flowing from his eyes, but the realization that he had been sitting there for 20 minutes forced him to get up.

He looked awful, bloodshot eyes, smeared makeup, tears staining his white t-shirt, and his hair messed up from him gripping on it so hard.

Making himself look semi presentable he walked out of the bathroom and made a b-line for the room he shared with the 2 oldest.

The problem with that was the leader was already waiting for him.

"You look dead," Chan said looking at Minho worried. 

"Might as well be," he scoffed.

"We will debut as 9," Chan said assuredly, holding his shoulders.

Minho shoved his arms away,"What if that's not what's best for you?"

"What makes you say that?" Chan tilted his head.

"I'm useless, you have 2 other dancers, and everyone can sing. I don't add very much," he said avoiding eye contact. 

"If you didn't add very much I wouldn't have picked you. I don't know what made you think that but it's wrong."

"I'm so tired hyung," he said, tears threatening to spill again. 

Chan hugged him,"think of this as some time for you to rest. Clear your head."

Minho nodded, maybe he just needed to sort himself out.

He had a lot more tears left to cry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2/10 complete wooow the angst is stronger than I intended but I love it

**Author's Note:**

> 2 posts in one day? this is honestly a first. I hope you'll read the whole series.


End file.
